


No Tears For The Creatures Of The Night

by irtokarkki666



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Blood, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, EVERYTHING GOES WRONG, Gore, Hallucinations, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Murder, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, This shit is dark, Torture, Violence, do not read this if you are depressed, drug mafia, i have not slept in 30h and i feel like my suicidality needs a vent, jim will lose everything, massive trigger warning, people die, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26360977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irtokarkki666/pseuds/irtokarkki666
Summary: Corey's drug bills are unpaid, he gets kidnapped by the drug dealers and things go wrong, so wrong. Little does he know that Jim tried to pay his debt but got kidnapped too and has to witness everything.
Kudos: 5





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I have a dark brain. I am sorry. Do not read this if you under 20 seriously do not. I wrote this in a brutal form of therapy for my intrusive thoughts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song of the chapter: "Onde" by Vous Autres.   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAblZPDpdN4

Corey just sat at the kitchen floor, contemplating his choices. He could just slit his wrists and neck open and be done with it. Still, something in him made him try to work things out. Maybe it wasn't that bad, maybe they were just scaring him. It wasn't a million dollar debt, a couple of hundred dollars, that's it. Surely he wouldn't get that fucked over, maybe a bit of punching. Threats to hurt family and friends. The usual. The usual.  
Everything seemed dim and dull from the terrifying clicking of the clock. Tick tock, time just passed by like that, and with every second he was sure that if he didn't end this right now, he would regret it later. But, it had gotten so much better! He had made friends with Jim and the others again. Slowly took less and less of the substance. He was almost in the point of recovery attemt, rehab program and all that. It was getting better. But the debt. It was small, he used to owe up thousands of dollars to very dangerous people, but still managed to pay up in time. Until this time. And he had come just 80 dollars short from the total sum of almost 3k dollars... such a small amount.  
He scratched up his arms, trying to bring any sensation at all to him. Useless. The dread was forming a barbed wire coil into his gut, ripping him more and more apart by every stupid little tick the stupid clock made. The fear. The ultimate, all -consuming amount of fear. And below that the dumb understaning that he kind of deserved it. His addiction had ruined up his friends' promising music career. He knew deep down that the universe was going to remind him of that, over and over again. He know that some dark, twisted karma had not been finished up with him. Everything following the darkening of days with even more dark days until everything was a pitch black pit of giving up. Joey gone. And now Paul. He knew that his recovery attempts were going to fail. It was waiting to happen, Joey grinning to him from the darkest shadow, asking him "Do you like my fate, do you... after all, you crafted it. The way I went was your fault and you know it. Follow the urge... dear." Corey knew this was a not real, but somehow he didn't care. Joey. Putting razors, scissors, knives to a row around him. "Make the choice... one little cut and it's all over, thought you wanted to see me again?? And poor Paul has been wailing to see you again." Laughter. Was it real, was anything real.  
Then something was really, really real. A blunt thud on the door, commanding voices, yelling, harsh running steps.  
That's it, he thought. That's fucking it.  
But he was too tired to do anything. Just wait. No willpower to pick up a knife and to turn the sharp end towards his heart. No willpower for anything anymore. To hell with it all, he thought, a dark smile creeping up his face. He didn't have to do anything, ever again. Just wait for the universe to fuck him up, finish him off and then dropping his limp body to a ditch somewhere. For the maggots to eat the rest of him, poetic. And who would miss him, who would even waste a little thought on him after all the series of fuck ups his life had become? Jim would get over it. Get a girl. Get married. Have a life without him. 

xxxx  
The actual descendance from a free human being with human rights to another lost life to the drug hazed world, it was all a blank, sudden fall. He remembered that someone had dragged him up by the armpits and forced his hands behind his back. A blindfold. Then a harsh, sweet feeling of a syringe to his arm. Then a hit in the face, probably. The downwards falling movement.  
And nothing. 

Until now.  
Corey tried to flutter his eyelids open. Everything felt off, like after a bad trip, but this was somehow different. The coil of dread, the panic now rushing to his heart to do something, kick, yell, scream, hit anything, escape, escape, escape, escape. It was a semi dark lit room, concrete. Concrete everywhere. There was several drains on the floor. A sinister reminder of what the room was probably used for. To wash down the remnants of a person begging for his life.  
He could taste the metallic adrenaline in his mouth. It felt like trying to drink down electricity. He couldn't breathe properly. He didn't realize that he was making a noise until a series of wails left him in a plead for mercy, from what? To whom? tried to slam his hand to his mouth to stop the wailing sounds, terrified the sound would alert someone, some thing, to come here. No use. His hands were stuck behind his back, numb and tingling. Why didn't he just end himself when he had the chance? He could sense Joey looking at him, grinning to his amusement. Things were going to get even. 

Breathe. Fucking breathe.  
Where are you? He tried to organize his brain but everything was still a mess after whatever was in the thing to knock him out. Something cold, no heroin. He knew that, too well. It was something medical. Anesthetic? Not chloroform, he would have died on the spot if it was that. Chloroform, injected, would kill the person as soon as it reached the heart. A split second of excruciating pain and then the all consuming nuclear flash of cold light, so bright it burned out everything and would let the person in total darkness.  
Where are you? Has he been here before?  
Concrete. Drains. Concrete. A lamp, stupid old halogen. No windows. Scent of rotten paint and lead. Metallic, rusty dust on the floors in strange formations.  
Remnants of blood. Oxidied, dried up iron. Everything alive drained out of it.  
The door must be behing his back, he thought. He couldn't see who was coming into the room. He couldn't see how big it was. Who knew if it was a auditorium, some kind of colosseum for the ultimate elite to enjoy their violence. Stop it. Stop your brain before you lose the ability to think completely. Do not thing of anything, not the movies, not anything related to the horror genre he used to love so much.  
And what if there was someone already here? It was that thought that truly send him gagging over the bile of dread from his guts. He could see his life dripping out from him in strings of vomit. The drains, it would all go down the drains... he found the idea suddenly morbidly hilarious and started cackling, a manic, jo(e)yless sound. He fell down as low as the bond let him. Face almost touching the concrete, his nose almost touching the iron stains. The dust of humanity.  
The laughter was struck out from him in such a force it left him numb before the pain exploded to his back, a blunt force. Like he had been hit with a iron bar. Everything iron, everything dusty red, everything so powdery, small flakes of red dancing around in the air. Around and around and around and around.


	2. II

No words. The person who had hit him did not speak. Didn't need to. Corey could feel the metal bar to be set to his throat, from behind that with one swift jerk backwards with it would crush his windpipe, cause his major arteries to fail and him to drown slowly to his own life. The attacker wasn't that close but he could sense him.  
Words like honey, soft like the summer wind.  
"You owe us, Taylor."  
No threats. No threatening.   
Corey hadn't been this frozen up in his life, well, once he had, once, long time ago, when..  
No. Do not think of it. Do not think of it now. Do not think of it ever again.   
Say something, idiot! he commanded himself. No words came out. The silence was crushing his scull apart.   
"Last time we let you slip. Remember Johanna? Our lady of grace and decadence."  
Right. The latter drug mafia boss. Johanna, the cold lady with cold eyes and a cold smile. No bullshit -type. The one who actually let the streets run wild with heroin, speed, everything. The grand lady of his addiction. The one that made everything easy.   
But the power had been taken from her, probably Johanna was now one of these stains on this floor, Corey thought. He started to get a sense of where this was going. New boss. New rules.   
No more mercy.  
The person, probably a man by his voice, if it even was theirs, did a little caring stroke around his head.   
"Such a pretty angel curls you have." Another notion of no informational value.   
"I can -- I .." Corey tried, anything. Think of something. What would he do? Rob the bank? Rob some elder woman? Sell his kidney on e bay??  
"Too late, Taylor."  
Last name. He used my last name again, and an american accent. Ex military, Corey put the thought together so fast it made him whine out a little exlamation. Iraqi war. The opium fields. American soldiers corrupted by their power over civilians, let to fuck around how much they pleased. Until now. The troops had been called home, the cheap heroin stopped flowing around, and these veterans were getting desperate. Desperate enough to join the mafia with their skills of interrogration and everything else of that nature.   
Maybe the person understood Corey's sudden understanding and started to drag him backwards to somewhere. He tried to kick, scream, even scratch the man. Useless. The adrenaline made him sizzle up with useless energy, he tried to slam himself to the floor, bolt or just slam his head to the concrete with enough force to break the skull membrane and spill his brain to the drain, down.  
"You should know what's incoming." A sly little remark.   
The effect was equisite.   
"Oh god no.. no- no! NO-- stop, no.." a series of pleas to avoid the a fate he knew too well.   
"Sure, just hit me, rip my guts out, dangle me up to the chandelier from my innards, but please god no.. not !" It was a wail. Useless, sobbing wail.   
No answer, but he was first raised to the air and then slammed down to something, his pleas ripping out from his lungs in a scream of pain. Then, before having any time to recover from that, someone grabbed his leg and even his strongest kicks, he couldn't help but witness how he was tied down to something. He knew what was coming. It was a long strain of "oh god oh god oh god no please no, oh god, god please--", until a familiar voice screaming "CorEY?!" shut him up.  
His head was yanked from his jaw to see something that froze his will.  
Jim. Chained up to the wall on Corey's left.  
Oh God.   
"Leave him alone and you can do anything you want to me. Absolutely anything." Corey's voice was now calm, lifeless. "Use me up as your personal fuck toy, you and your mafia friends. Rape me until I am dead, fuck my corpse, anything, but not him. Anything you want. But not him."  
Jim started to realize the situation with every word Corey said. His entire being wanted to fight his way out of this, out of everything.  
"We will. And he will watch. And when we are done, he will have the last round with you. Or we will rip you apart slowly before his eyes." A sentence that ripped up a howl from Jim and set a ton of weight down Corey's being. Jim didn't have the time to say anything before someone put a gag on him, with a cruel punch to his groin. Gagged scream, but nothing seemed to click in Corey's brain. He had no strenght to fight back. And he had a feeling that if he would try to fight back, they would take every movement out on Jim. At least the last one was someone he knew. Who would try to be as gentle as he could. Oddly comforting. But it would destroy Jim's psyche, he knew it.   
He wondered if either of them was going to get out alive. Please, let it be Jim. Let it be Jim. Kill me and let him live.


	3. III

Do not think, Corey. Do not think, he tried to plead with his own mind. Do not think and it will be over at some point. Then it would be Jim and then, he did not know. The first chance he had to kill himself after this, he would take.   
Someone put their hand over his eyes, caressing his face, twirling his hair.   
Surrender and it will be easier, the old remnant of a memory told him what to do now to make the whole thing less painful. Corey, he said to himself. You have been raped before. This time you at least know what it is like, but his thoughts only did hit halfway before setting up against the life force in him, that fought back with it's every molecule, wanted no pain, wanted no suicide, wanted to stay alive. At any means. The violated teen in him screamed for mercy, for help, from anyone. It didn't understand how his life had been ripped apart like this. It did not recognize the older version of himself, the one who accepted this to be his final experience of the world.   
Do not think.   
Do not feel.  
Do not see.  
Do not hear.   
By god, do not feel.  
Still the shriek from Jim when the first man slammed something into him ripped up a horrifying scream from his gut. It wailed down to a sobbing, weird little noise. Laughter, when his rapist twisted the something in his ass sending the sensation of tissue breaking up, something being ripped apart deep inside of him, it was too much. Corey howled with pain, arching down, away from the thing as far as possible. It wasn't a dick. It was something worse, something bigger and sharper on the edges. The thing was twisted again, each movement sending the pain everywhere on his body. He could feel blood already dripping down his upper thigs. The thing was removed from him, he had time to cry out one Oh God NO-, before it was slammed back, even deeper. His mind registered Jim's screaming in the backround, terrible, gagged up wailing for him. It cut down to his brain until something flipped and-  
Joey.   
Standing in front of him, smiling with a cruel enjoyment in his eyes. It was and wasn't Joey. His friend, or, at least, mutual person, ex friend, anything, didn't had enjoyed this. It was Corey himself, the guilt that had consumed Joey's form after he'd died.   
He didn't register the thing in him being replaced with a cock until he could feel someone gripping his hair, a body against himself. The salt in the person's pre cum felt like he was injected with acid. The gasps of pleasure in his ear, too much. The movement of someone fucking him, raping him, hitting him in the old wounds and ripping them open. The rapist didn't last long. He came inside him, the cum acid in him, the dick still hitting him on the wounds the thing before had left in him. Corey wailed, a small sobbing noise his past and present, a plea for unconsciousness. He was becoming alarmingly numb, someone slapped his ass by the sound of it, another man. Someone who had his hands around his throat, blocking the violent sobs back into his lungs. Then someone else, who preferred his mouth.   
Joey laughing and touching himself in the corner. Jim screaming, pause when he was hit in the face, nose now malformed, bloody and gory, then screaming again, he didn't have the gag on anymore, his words of Corey, please, no, it was suddenly silent and spinning around.   
Someone was finished with Corey's mouth, gagging up something that tried to flow down into his lungs, coughing up blood, and then a sudden, sharp pain on his arm. A knife, someone was twisting a knife under his skin. Someone else slammed the first thing back into him, while his original assaulter ripped a big string of skin off his arm, no more screaming. It was a constant howl, a beg for any god, any human to put a bullet into his brain and end it, end it, please god, please, end it, end it.


	4. IV

He must've blacked out from the pain.   
Someone was slapping his face now, trying to get him awake, teeth breaking and jaw lolling loosely on it's sockets, mouth full of blood and violence.  
"Don't miss the fun part, Taylor", something that took ages to form into a sentence in his brain.   
Jim, dragged towards him, screaming so loud that it made his spinal chord resonate. Something cool, metal feeling, placed onto his temple.  
Pull the trigger, fucker, he thought, suddenly calmly and oddly away from all of this. He could see his body laying down, his achilles sinews cut, no more walking, ever again. He had lost several toes, they laid scattered around the room. Pieces of his skin, his arms seemed skinned up to his elbows. Corey looked down to the odd, glistening white of tissue, blood oozing out with weird, driplet formations. His hands seemed to be twisting, the nerves sending too much pain signals to his brain for the poor thing to even begin to analyze it.   
Back to Jim. The man had his pants ripped down to his ankles, hands tied behind his hands, three men holding him to place.   
"And now, you fuck him, or we decorate the floor with his brain."  
Corey registered his friend was half hard, had someone jerked him off or was he enjoying this against his will?   
He barely could feel his friend's large member pushed into him, Jim sobbing now, trying to be as gentle as he could. Corey wished he could have said something to him. Something like that he was already too far gone to feel anything. His body wasn't attached to him anymore.  
Then happened something that forced his mind back into his body. Jim flung his body backwards as fast as he could, left Corey with an obscene moist sound, a little fight, and then a loud sound. Like an explosion.  
Time slowed down.  
Jim's eyes widening and then, a crimson, deep -blooming flower in his forehead. Jim's eyes starting to form gloss over them, the roadkill- look, his mouth opening to a curious, little o. In that moment he saw himself sharing the stage with Corey, a flip of images, Corey drunk, laughing, Corey's grandma looking fake disappointed, someone saying something about a lost shoe, a loudening, static sound consuming everything, one more happy looking Corey, sleepy this time,slouching on a chair--  
Jim's body slowly, ridiculously slowly, collapsing on itself, his jaw hitting his shoulder, the man collapsing down, down, eyes now all murky, all glistering with a light that consumed everythin in the end, even Corey, even the dark, burning away all the fear, the pain, the wrong.


	5. V - epilogue

Hospital bed. White sheets. Slightly light blue walls. Something beeping, Corey woke up to that damned beeping, confused. Annoying beep, should have let him sleep? And what the hell was he doing alive, anyways?  
Trying to raise his head, it just didn't want to move, his body was out of his control, but there was no pain. He could've sworn to hear someone knock on the door.   
The door, swinging open, revealing three people. Smiling, welcoming three people.

Joey.  
Paul.  
And Jim.


End file.
